Warrior's Moon (26 page)

“Is that the way it is among the Éan?”

“Mates take care of one another, no matter their race of Chrechte.”

“My father never played nursemaid to my mother.”

Vegar shrugged. “He is English and human.”

“He was still her mate.” And though it was uncommon enough for a human to mate a Chrechte, when it happened, the bond was every bit as irresistible as it was between two of the Faol.

“Not a good one, by the sounds of it.”

“He had a wife,” Audrey admitted with shame even as she revised some of her own perceptions about the mating bond.

It inspired lust and an overwhelming need to procreate, but the tender touches and acts of kindness she’d witnessed between the laird and his lady were not a result of it. Emotion caused that behavior and attitude.

Would she experience that same emotion with Vegar?

“Not your mother.”

“Not my dam, no.”

Vegar shook his head.
“English.”

“That is not a curse word, any more than Éan is one that should be spoken in that tone. Whatever you may wish otherwise, your mate and now wife is English.”

Vegar sighed. “I apologize.”

“What?”

“You heard.”

“You do not seem like a man who admits regret easily.”

“I am not.”

“So, I should feel privileged?”

“You are my mate.”

“And that gives me special privileges?”

“Aye.”

“I am still English.”

“You are Chrechte.”

“And a bastard.”

“Your father is the bastard, not you.”

“His parents were married.”

“His behavior toward your mother and the woman who carries his name decrees him such.”

“I always thought so,” Audrey admitted. “His wife was not an unkind woman. She treated Thomas and me better than our father did.”

“She is a woman of great character.”

“My mother did not think so.”

“That is to be expected.”

Audrey found herself smiling at something that had
always before caused her pain. “Perhaps it is. Even if she had been his wife, I do not think my father would have known the first thing about tending another’s ailments, least of all my mother’s.”

The shrug was in his voice this time. “Warriors are trained to treat wounds as well as inflict them.”

“Are they?” She’d never heard of such a thing among the baron’s knights.

Though that was not a definitive circumstance. Their father had taken Thomas’s training very lightly. It had stopped almost completely when they were sent to serve in the Heronshire household.

Shona’s baron had made sure Thomas knew enough to protect his wife and the children only in a very rudimentary way.

“Aye.”

“Is it a Highlander tradition, do you think?”

He lifted one negligent shoulder, as if whether anyone outside the men he trained did as they did was of no importance. Probably, it wasn’t.

Unlike her, Vegar did not appear to be a man who would care overmuch for the opinions or accepted practices of others.

Vegar pulled his tunic off and she gasped as his torso was revealed. To be sure, his body was all that a woman could desire in both husband and mate.

Strong and well formed, but it was the evidence of the battle he’d so recently fought that drew forth her reaction. “You were so intent on treating my cuts, you have neglected your own.”

“You can treat them for me now.” He removed his kilt and approached the bed, his tumescent sex worrisome.

She nodded, his health more important than her worry or embarrassment. Holidng close with one hand the fur covering her nakedness, she sat up and reached for the wet cloth floating in a bowl of witch hazel–infused water Abigail had left behind.

Audrey now realized the lady had done so not so her
own injuries could be treated again later, but so that Vegar’s wounds could be cleansed.

He sat beside her on the bedding in a way that made it easy for her to reach the majority of the small cuts and abrasions he’d sustained. “You are very tenderhearted.”

“Because I want to treat your wounds? You treated mine as well,” she reminded him. And had in fact, ignored his own to do so.

Again she was touched by the heart revealed in his actions despite his sometimes off-putting attitude and words.

“Because you allowed the laird to proclaim us man and wife rather than allow me to challenge him.”

“You were not being reasonable.”

“There is no
reason
when it comes to protecting one’s mate.”

“If you say so.” She reached out and touched him with the cloth, swiping at dried blood around one of his larger gashes. “None of these will need sewing.”

“I am Chrechte. I will heal quickly.”

“I know that, but I am still glad.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Why?”

She did not understand the question. “I do not wish you to be in pain.”

“You see? Tenderhearted.”

“It is quite normal for a person to have compassion for others.” Did he not see it so?

“You are Faol. I am Éan.”

“You are my mate. Besides, I am not my mother. Whatever she believed, I cannot accept that others are less simply because they shift into a different animal, or do not shift at all.”

“You and Caelis’s lady are like sisters though you share no blood.”

“We are.”

“’Tis unusual among the Faol to be so close to a human.”

“Perhaps I would have believed that before coming here, but now I am certain the Fearghall are exceptions among our kind.”

“For the most part, but dinna be deceived, my beautiful mate, there are many Chrechte among the Éan and the Faol who believe themselves superior to humans. It is not only the Fearghall who believe the Faol are the strongest of the Chrechte and therefore superior. Do not be deceived about my people, either. Many believe we should remain apart and that we are better for the gifts we have been given through our own sacred stone beyond the ability to shift.”

“What gifts? What do you mean?”

“Each Éan is gifted with mystical talents during the ceremony of their first shift.”

“We do not have a ceremony for our first shift?” she asked, rather than said, because she was not sure.

“The Faol gave up many of their ceremonies over the centuries, but the Éan have always been the race with more mystical abilities.”

“Which makes some of you believe you are better than the Faol?”

“Aye.”

“And many of the English believe themselves better than the Scots.” This false sense of superiority seemed to be a universal problem among all of humanity.

His hazel eyes doubted her words. “You do not?”

“There is enough to occupy my mind and time without spending any of it worrying if I am in some way better than others.”

“Even a barbarian?”

Heat suffused her face. “I said that in anger.”

He nodded.

“You believe me?”

“We are Chrechte. I could smell a lie.”

Oh. Yes. It would take effort to grow accustomed to being around others of her kind besides her brother.

Which meant if he lied, she would smell it on him.
“You are no longer disappointed to be mated to an Englishwoman?”

“No.” Only truth and sincerity infused his scent and his tone.

Inexplicable tears burned her eyes. She blinked them away. “That is good.”

He smiled, his handsome face even more compelling.

“You are very appealing in your looks.” Had she really said that?

Perhaps there had been something besides valerian root and chamomile in her tea.

His smile turned to a feral grin. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Do not be arrogant.”

“According to you, I have reason to be.”

“Annoying warrior.”

She went to rinse the cloth and wring it out, but it was an awkward task with only one hand.

He took the cloth from her and did it, handing it back to her when he was done. “Your touch, even in such an innocent fashion, evokes a strong reaction in me.”

Her gaze flitted to his very large manhood. “I noticed.”

He chuckled. “You are careful to look everywhere but there.”

“We are married, but we are not mated.”

He stilled, his expression turning almost frightening. “This is true.”

“I would prefer not to engage in certain…activities until after we are mated,” she said, her words speeding up until the final ones ran together.

“Why?” Had he even understood them?

“Neither my brother nor my dearest friend was there to witness our promises.” They’d barely spoken any. “I would have both by my side when I speak my Chrechte vows of mating.”

He didn’t reply and she kept herself occupied finishing what she had started.

“Look at me,” he ordered in an almost gentle tone when she was finished tending him and had dropped the cloth
back in the bowl. He was back to looking and sounding dangerous. “Do you question the validity of our marriage because it did not happen before a priest?”

“No, though I will expect a priest’s blessing in the future.” It was not something she was willing to compromise on.

“Aye.”

She nodded.

Surprisingly, he relaxed. “Why, then, do you wish to wait on consummation?”

She shook her head. She did not want to see his anger at her request.

“Audrey.”

She bit her lip at the command in his tone, but did not obey it. “Surely you can understand my desire.”

He barked out a laugh. “I think, sweet mate, it is you who does not
understand
desire.”

He was not far off. Audrey was wholly innocent, Shona’s claim earlier that there was great pleasure to be found in the act of copulation for a woman, the closest thing she had received to instruction on the matter.

“I wish to wait,” she repeated.

“Mate.” There was no doubt that this time, Vegar fully expected her compliance.

He would learn that using that tone would not always benefit him. Another time.

She found herself lifting her head so their eyes met.

His were devoid of the anger, frustration or even disappointment she expected. “You are healing, mate. I would not choose this moment to consummate our marriage regardless.”

“Oh.” That was…it was really rather considerate of him. “Thank you.”

“Dinna thank me for doing right by you. No matter our differences, you can always expect that, at the very least.”

“Oh.” His words were not as comforting as the unexpectedly kind expression on his masculine features. “Can I expect anything else?”

“What do you mean?” The question as much as the perplexed drawing together of his brows made it quite clear Vegar truly had no inkling what she was talking about.

It was a bit disheartening, but she forged on anyway. “Do you believe in love between mates?”

“I believe it happens, yes.” He did not sound any further enlightened.

She had no choice but to bluntly ask, “Will you love me, do you think?”

“Will you love
me
?” he asked, instead of answering.

She frowned at him, wanting to lie, but after his consideration felt obligated to reply with the truth. He’d smell the lie anyway. Arrogant, uncooperative, decidedly not forthcoming warrior.

He waited with eyes narrowed, a tension about him she could not understand.

She blew out a breath and spoke the truth. “Yes, I think I will.”

“You do not sound happy about that.”

“Truly? I am not.” She’d seen the pain a woman lived with loving a mate who had not discernible deeper emotions for her.

“Is it because I am Éan?”

“It is because you are a hard man. I do not think love will come easily to you.” If at all.

“This very morn, I would have agreed with you.”

“Something has changed your opinion in such a short time?”

“Aye, you could say that.”

“What?” she asked, perplexed.

“Seeing you fight with another wolf to protect me.”

“How could that be?” In no way had she been at her best.

“You could have died.”

That was true enough.

“I do not know how to fight.” In fact, she’d done very little damage. Thinking back on those fraught minutes, it was a wonder she’d survived them at all.

“You fought with your heart. That, sometimes, is more important than training.”

“You killed him.” She would never regret the killing blow had come from him and not her.

Audrey did not think she would like knowing she had killed a man, be he in his beast form or not when he died.

“Aye.” The word had a weary, unhappy undertone.

She would have expected him to be pleased, or at the very least proud of his feat. It was clear, however, that he regretted the other Chrechte’s death.

“You didn’t want to.”

“Too many Chrechte have died from bloodshed.”

“It is in our nature.”

“Our
human
nature, mayhap.”

Her lips curved in a small smile at the joke she knew he meant half seriously. “It will be no easy thing to fight the Fearghall.”

“You are right, but the Éan and Cahir have been doing it for centuries.”

“It is different now, is it not?” This joining of the clans by the Éan, it changed things.

The MacLeod laird’s machinations were worrisome as well.

“It must be done.”

“Yes.”

“Your brother will join the Cahir.”

“How can you be sure?” An awful thought formed. “You will not force him?”

“Nay. He has your heart. He seeks justice and truth. The Cahir will do well to have him join our ranks. And Thomas will find the destiny he seeks.”

“You don’t know him.”

The firm set of Vegar’s jaw and mouth said he did not agree.

But how could he claim otherwise? “You truly are
very
arrogant, aren’t you?”

“I am a warrior of the Cahir.”

“And that makes you always right?”

“It makes me more aware than even others of our kind.”

“You would have me believe that with your training, you can tell a man’s character after a single meeting?”

“We are Cahir.”

“You already said that.”

He smiled at her jibe rather than getting annoyed. “Chrechte have many gifts, which, when honed to a knife point, can slice through deception and illusions.”